I was going to rant today. I was going to unleash the fury, have a go at many things that have pissed me off today and generally make a scene. I was going to be spitting bile in the direction of many authority figures, I was going to be questioning and clumsily dissecting policies, decisions and outcomes. I was going to do all of that, but I had too much work to be getting on with this evening.
As such, I’ve calmed down from how I was earlier. The initial shock of whatever it was that was making me angrier than I’ve been in a while has been replaced by a combination of weariness and… well, a bit more weariness. The rage has subsided, replaced instead by a need to go to bed.
It helps that when I got in I watched some Daniel Kitson, finally remembering to see what he’s like as I’ve meant to for a few weeks now. He’s really good, actually. That helped the rage peter out a bit. Then the inevitable YouTube trawl for other comedians extinguished most of the fires of hatred.
Then having to watch Resident Evil: Afterlife gave my fury a different target to focus on, and after writing about both that and Tron Evolution this evening I’m kind of all angered out. I mean, I’m not – I’m still utterly enraged by the situation our government has thrust upon its people, I’m furious about the treatment of people by the police – a force I once foolishly respected and thought of as there for our protection (turns out – here’s the dirty little secret – they’re just bouncers for the government). I’m still mad about that. I’m angry. I feel there’s little hope of a bright future, at least in the immediate times to come.
But I’m just a bit pooped right now, and I want to go and do a little sleepy. Unfortunately I have more work to finish for tomorrow, so that’s bollocksed that idea right up.
I hope this letter reaches you well, and doesn’t end up at Sting’s house again by accident – that was an embarrassing mishap!
I am just writing to let you know that I am proud of you, and incredibly happy with what you are doing for our fine nation. I recently read in the Daily Express that some horrible hooligans were trying to burn down the Queen so they could put immigrants in her house (which is a nicely decorated house!). I do not know what Chew-ish Urn means, but it sounds like one of those pot-frenzies these tearaways have together underneath their hoodies during knife crime.
Anyway, I lost my train of brain-splattering there. I was congratulating you, so I shall continue: well done for treating these ruffians the way they deserve to be treated. Just because they face a future of incredibly limited access to one of the cornerstones of civilisation as we know it, that doesn’t mean they can put spray paint on a van! It’s a disgusting sign of the times, caused mainly through not enough respect for God, the Queen and country, and the way they all do a drug.
So it was with great pleasure I watched you intimidate this gang of youngsters. I heard somebody say a fair few there were just children, and that the protest was “peaceful” – whatever that means! – but I think he was just a member of the Loony Left and probably reads a the chin-stroker’s digest (that is my funny name that I give to the Guardian newspaper).
It is clear for any right-thinking member of British society to see that these louts were on the verge of something truly nasty. In fact, I’ve been told by another source – the Daily Mail – that some of them made remarks that could have been construed as positive about the EU! What a lark!
So, in summary: the Police. Thank you for threatening, intimidating, beating, bullying and generally taking away the civil liberties of everyone who has been a part of these protests recently. It’s good old-fashioned behaviour like that that stops us from devolving into something like France.
I have been asked a few times through my life – earlier on in it, naturally – if I would consider following in my father’s footsteps. For those not in the know, pops was a copper, meaning he busted perps and dragged their sorry asses all the way to jail*. I never had any intention of doing so, but I never actually thought why. Now I do think about it, it’s pretty obvious.
I am large and reasonably intimidating, given the correct lighting and viewing angle, but I am also a tremendous physical coward. How I could ever possibly maintain any level of success in a job where you’re required to confront some of the worst shits of humanity is beyond me. Talking to people? No. Asserting yourself? Nah. Chasing people down the road? No chance.
I mean, tasering a murderous bouncer so hard he apparently shoots himself does sound like the most hilarious thing in the world, but it just never appealed. Shooting people on the basis that they’re not white enough? As alluring as could be. Refereeing the World Cup final I would like to do a bit, but at the same time I don’t think I could handle being vilified by the Dutch as a people. I mean, I like the Dutch. I don’t want them to hate me.
So it turns out they’re pretty obvious reasons. Should really have laid them out to whoever asked me, the few times I was actually asked. Even if it would involve some level of prescience on my part.
*Sat at a desk. Filed paperwork.